A Worthy End
by QueenTiye
Summary: My first fan fic ever - and a rush job at that! Hope it's somewhat enjoyable...
1. Chapter 1

When you wanted someone dead, and you wanted it done clean - no mess, no trail of blood leading to your door… you hired Tyr Anasazi. Everybody knew it, though no one could say why… His reputation in this regard was impeccable, though no one could prove that he had actually killed a soul. Still, there were drawbacks. The usual ones. A Nietzschean couldn't be trusted to see the job through if the job jeopardized his own survival, and Tyr was no exception.   
  
So when you wanted someone dead, no matter what the consequence, you didn't hire Tyr. You hired the Ogami. As mercenaries went, they were largely sloppy. To hire the Ogami meant that you wanted the person dead, and you didn't care who knew it. Their single minded devotion to the task at hand meant that no matter how many people died in the process, in the end, your mark was one of them. The drawback? You can't undo the hit. When they accept the job, its as good as done. It was very hard to turn the sisterhood from a mission once accepted. It usually required the death of all who knew about the mission in the first place. And Ogami are very hard to kill. Many a soul committed suicide on the rumor that the Ogami were out for them. It was always better to choose your own time of death, when death was certain.   
  
Which was why Tyr was upset. It had been months since the Ogami had attempted to assassinate Dylan, and there was no sign of them. Their lack of follow-up was so atypical, that it warranted suspicion. To the best of his knowledge, none but he had any. The ship, he knew, assumed that he had ordered the hit, and then changed his mind. He smiled at that. Good to have an intelligent warship believing that you care more for the captain she idolizes than you do for anything else. It was an image worth nurturing, so long as he didn't get killed for it.  
  
Reviewing the flexi in his hand, he came to one conclusion. He needed answers, and he didn't have any. His survival, and the survival of the mission, and his own agenda depended on him getting some. Fast.  
  
"Ship. Release the slipfighter from docking bay c." Andromeda's visage flickered in front of him. "What for?" she asked, her arms crossed in front of her.   
"Just do it!" Exasperated, Tyr walked through her image, and stepped into the craft. "I'll be reporting this to Dylan, and tracking your motion."  
  
"I'm counting on it." Tyr replied. The docking bay opened, and Andromeda's projected image disappeared. 


	2. Chapter 2

The making of an Alpha was always tricky business. The first problem is that every male thinks he ought to be one, and every other male is willing to help prove him wrong. Add this to the fact that the universe is stacked against him - he is born at the wrong time, into the wrong line, out of the wrong woman - and it becomes very hard to imagine how it ever happens. It is no wonder that the Alpha of any pride is celebrated, nor is it at all surprising the number of women who call him husband.  
  
There are some who are born with that glint in their eye - they know from the day they draw their first breath, they drink it in with all the other nourishment they draw from their mother's breast - they know that they are born to be first among their fellows. What is left, then? Only the question of how. How will they become distinguished? What culmination of will and fate will conspire to push these firsts to the fore?  
  
These were the thoughts of the figure lurking in the shadows of Charlemagne Bolivar's court. The lavish extravagance of his court brought these thoughts sharply to the fore. No one quite knew how Charlemagne had achieved his success - he had been the obscure son of a fifth wife by an accountant in the prior Archduke's court. Nevertheless, from the first, he had a flair. People liked him. And he, in turn, liked no one. It was said in his court that his position was sealed when he shot his best friend in a game of Vedran poker. Having bet his friend's life and lost, he settled his debt with a sophisticated flair, and promptly married the widow. The shocking brutality of it had been carried off so well, that no one mourned. This was the depth of treachery that marked Charlemagne - and one would be hard pressed to find his equal.  
  
Watering the lavish gardens, the figure waited expectantly, knowing that soon, a stranger would appear. The figure was not disappointed, as Tyr Anasazi sauntered into the court, making short work of the security figures who crossed his path. The figure smiled. Watching Charlemagne's face the approaching Tyr was a study in how dangerous it was to be close enough to the Archduke to be in his private retinue. Charlemagne never blinked as Tyr advanced, leaving a stream of bodies in his wake. The barrel of a rather large gauss gun pointed straight at Charlemagne, who finally decided to spare his men their inevitable death, with a wave of a beautiful manicured hand.  
  
"Kodiak! That is quite an impressive entrance you've made, albeit a bit messy. Somebody please clean this up! I wouldn't want my guest to think that my standards are slipping."  
  
"I would have a word with you, Archduke Bolivar." The sneer was more than obvious.  
"Indeed? Well, you'll understand of course that we can have no words while you are carrying...that."  
  
Throwing the gun forcefully to the ground, Tyr stood towering over the guards who scurried to secure it, immediately pointing it at him. Tyr gave a dismissive glance at the guard, then stretched his hands out, dangerously close to the threatening gun.  
  
Charlemagne nodded. "Right this way, Anasazi. I was planning to dine alone, but I'll welcome your company." With a quick survey of his surroundings, Tyr began to walk toward Charlemagne, the guard following close behind.  
  
In the shadows, the figure bit back a smile. "Very impressive, Tyr Anasazi. Very impressive." 


	3. Chapter 3

"Well, Tyr. You've come so far to see me, and you've come alone. I hope that your business was worth the journey, not to mention the loss of life of some of my closest friends?"  
  
"I imagine your own life was worth the loss of life of your...friends." Tyr replied, making himself comfortable in a plush blue chair.   
  
"Strong words for someone who doesn't know where the daggers are hidden."  
  
"The Jaguar are renowned for the treachery, Bolivar. I wouldn't be so certain that every hidden dagger is aimed at me."  
  
Charlemagne regarded Tyr steadily, eyebrow elevated ever so slightly. Then he smiled. "Well done, Kodiak. There will be no further bloodshed. What can I do for you?"  
  
"You could tell me who hired the Ogami to kill Dylan Hunt."   
  
Charlemagne looked surprised. "I imagine you think I did it, else you wouldn't come in here guns blazing," he said, smiling. "But I assure you, I was unaware of the matter until you just mentioned it." Tyr leaned back and folded his arms. "Really? And your assurances are worth?" "Not much!" the blond man laughed, and Tyr smiled with him. "But let's review the facts. Dylan is one man, in an admittedly powerful warship, but still one man. I am the Archduke of the Sabra-Jaguar alliance. You'll admit that I have no need of the Ogami to kill Dylan Hunt if I wanted him dead. As it is, he and his ship are useful to me. I've no reason to kill him!" "Then you agree, that we have a problem?" "You mean because he is as good as dead? I agree to nothing of the sort. Such a Kodiak thing to say, really! No, the fact that I find him useful does not mean that I would have a problem with him being dead. There are other ways to meet my objectives. Dylan is a good expedient, but only one of many." Charlemagne stood up. Walking to the back of the room, he poured himself a glass of a very rich looking port. "Tyr, it seems to me, given the facts, that you have better things to do than trying to find out who hired the Ogami. I imagine that the beautiful Captain Valentine is next in command?" Tyr nodded his assent. "Well, it might be worth your while to ... shall we say, befriend her?" Tyr looked affronted. "I have no desire to mate Captain Valentine!" Bolivar laughed. "Tyr, I don't believe Captain Valentine desires to mate with you either! Kludges! They've no respect for DNA. Their shallow regard can be quite entertaining!"  
  
Tyr stood up. Bracing his bone spurs into fighting position, he growled a low and dangerous warning. "Charlemagne, it seems to me that an unsuccessful Ogami attack requires a follow-up sooner than 3 months later."   
  
"Indeed!" Charlemagne smiled a sinister smile. "You know, Tyr, I like you. It would be entertaining in a nostalgic kind of way to have a Kodiak in my court." The nearly imperceptible sneer was not lost on Tyr. "All the same, I'll taint you with a bit of Jaguar wisdom. When circumstance drops opportunity in your lap, you don't ask why. You seize your opportunity and secure it. I have no knowledge of an Ogami contract on the good captain. But if I were you, I'd be prepared for its eventual execution… and very grateful for whoever made my job easier." With sharp eagle eyes, Charlemagne fixed his gaze on the taller man, and for a few tense moments, the two men were arrested in a test of wills. Tyr moved first.   
  
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, and then turned and exited the room. 


	4. Chapter 4

Failure. It leaves such a nasty aftertaste. And for a Nietzschean with strikes already against him, it burns on the inside - eating at his self-confidence like water on iron. For a Nietzschean, the saying is profoundly true - nothing beats failure like success. But for Tyr, that success would have to come another day. Today, he would face the derision of a high guard warship. Of this, he was sure.  
  
"I assume you monitored the slipfighter while I was away?" Tyr addressed the android who was waiting at the docking bay.  
  
"I did. You might be interested in knowing that the was an unauthorized entry while you were visiting our allies." Rommie put slight emphasis on the word "our." Tyr ignored it.  
  
"There was no damage to the craft!" He was slightly defensive. Another strike against him - how had anyone accessed the ship? He had safeguarded against that very possibility, and none of the systems showed signs of tampering.  
  
"No. No damage. In fact, the human that entered the ship seemed intent mostly on donating information - not sabotage. I've analyzed the data. It appears to be a schematic of Charlemagne's court. The information is...useful."   
  
Allowing himself an unguarded moment, Tyr slumped against the bulkhead. "Why would anyone give us this information?"  
  
"Inconclusive. However, having this information gives us a tactical advantage should the Sabra-Jaguar Alliance attempt to betray us. There are other possible uses. I'm sure you can figure them out." This last was sarcastic.   
  
Tyr rolled his eyes and tossed his mane in exasperation. "Rommie, for the time being, I would recommend that you keep a close eye on your captain. I am not pleased to be the recipient of gifts from strangers I cannot see."  
  
"And I am to believe that you were totally unaware that this person provided this information while you kept the Archduke otherwise occupied?" Rommie arched her eyebrows. "Tyr, you would have done better to tell me that these schematics were the sole purpose of your visit. As it stands, your motives remain in question."  
  
Tyr smiled at that. "That is a good thing! Watch out for the good Captain. I am not sure I understand the game being played, but I'm beginning to have some ideas."  
  
"Tyr, I don't recommend that any harm come to Dylan. It would be bad for your survival."  
  
"I couldn't agree more," Tyr said, looking the android in the eye.  
  
She made her calculations and concluded that he was at least sincere, and then she strode quickly away, leaving Tyr to himself. Watching her go, a smile tickled the corner of his lips. He now had an idea about the Ogami contract, and the source of the gifted information. If he was right, the universe must have decided to smile at him after all. 


	5. Conclusion

In a small and private room on a distant drift sits a woman on a bed. The room is nothing remarkable - a Spartan affair, a table, two chairs in the far right corner, the bed on the left, and beside it a bassinet. She is singing a low, sweet song, the words of which are unimportant for our tale. Suffice to say that the babe looking up into her mother's eyes is growing drowsy, as was her mother's intention.  
  
The prize of the Galaxy - the spaceship Andromeda, was under the command of a reckless human male. The possessor of such a prize would have leverage to make quite a difference in the universe, that much had been proven by the surprising successes of the restored Systems Commonwealth. It didn't take much to imagine what a commanding Alpha male could do with such a ship. What wealth he could achieve, what terror he could invoke, what security he could ensure for a woman and her child. And for a woman who knew the life of piracy on an intimate basis - the Andromeda looked like the crown jewel. And so, the Ogami's orders were clear. Kill Hunt; spare Anasazi. Eliminate all evidence of the hit. Tyr Anasazi would know what steps were next to take he was born to be an Alpha create the circumstance and let him shine.  
  
They failed in their first mark because Anasazi willed it. He willed the good Captain to live, and brought reinforcements to ensure it. And so doing, he informed the woman that his destiny was not to claim the Andromeda - at least not for today. Had she not taken the signal, the Captain would be dead. Instead, she recalled the hit - no easy feat. Quick acting poisons efficaciously delivered, ensured that the attempts on Hunt's life would stop while the cover-up effort continued.   
  
The woman sighed. Tyr had his reasons, she was sure, but it did not make her job any easier. The making of an Alpha was always tricky business - or rather, women's work. There are always plans to be made, plots to scheme, deeds to commit. These last - the deeds, are what the Alpha becomes known for his exploits herald his genetic excellence, as nothing else shall ever do. But the former, the plans and the plots - these are the specialty of women.   
  
And so a new plan is laid. A secret smile plays on the corner of the woman's lips as she gazes lovingly at her baby girl, now asleep, snoring in gentle rasps. It would not be long before the baby girl would meet her father, the Wanderer, and take her place as First Daughter, out of Freya, by Tyr. It would not be long. 


End file.
